


We're Just a Nineties Romantic Comedy

by Spoodlemonkey



Series: For one night and one night only, The D-Men! [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Meddling, Mo and his D-men, Some angst, The Jake Gardiner Trade, loosely follows the current season, so much meddling, trade angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22838782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: The Epic Love Story of Morgan Rielly and Jake Gardiner.Or,Morgan's friends need to stop meddling.
Relationships: Jake Gardiner/Morgan Rielly
Series: For one night and one night only, The D-Men! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641889
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	We're Just a Nineties Romantic Comedy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catpurrccino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpurrccino/gifts).



> Inspired by coreycat's desire for the Mo/Jake background to my other fic. Loosely based around previous years and the current season. I spent so long staring at this and then figured 'fuck it' so any mistakes are my own! I can't believe how long this got...
> 
> I'm off to Cuba in a few hours and desperately wanted to get this posted lol

The Leafs locker room is probably the most terrifying thing he’s ever seen. He’s used to the chaos of the Marlies, the old locker room that could probably use a face lift, the fact that the doors open up into the same hallway the fans hover in and there’s no privacy. This is an entirely different form of chaos, controlled, but full of this hyped up feeling as they get ready for their game. Reporters hover in the hall, camera’s up and ready, and Morgan ducks his head, avoids eye contact as he hurries in after a few of the older guys. 

Inside is a riot of noise. The wall of sound hits him, someone’s got an Ipod plugged in pumping out top forty, and the shouts of the guys blend together until it’s all one confusing jumble. His stomach in knots, he heads for the locker with his name and can’t quite contain the broad smile that spreads across his face at the sight of  _ Rielly _ across the light wood.

He reaches out and touches it just to make sure it’s real. 

“Excited?” A vaguely familiar voice asks and he glances over his shoulder. The biggest blue eyes he’s ever seen are watching him, accompanied with a kind, knowing smile. 

“Kinda feel like I’m going to throw up,” he admits and it gets him a deep laugh. 

“Yeah, that keeps up for your first couple of games.” Blue eyes agrees and Morgan’s fascinated by the way his eyes crinkle as his smile grows. “Once you’re on the ice it’s just like every other game though.”

“He’s lying to you,” another guy adds in passing. “It’s a hell of a lot faster.”

Blue eyes shrugs at Morgan’s skeptical look.

“Faster but it’s still hockey. Nothing you haven’t done before.” He holds out his hand. “Jake.”

“Morgan,” it clicks in who he’s talking to, why the voice is familiar. He’s heard a few of Gardiner’s interviews in the past season, along with the other Leafs, a reminder of what he was working towards with his busted leg. 

Apparently he should have been watching the interviews too, instead of just  _ listening. _ The square jaw, light hair and blue eyes are a sight to behold.

“We’ll stick together,” Jake is saying as the coach comes in to prep them for their game. “Defencemen have to look out for each other, right?” 

Morgan can’t help the smile that spreads across his face at that. 

“Right,” he says, unknowingly setting the stage for the most important relationship of his life.

::

“We should get a dog.” 

Morgan glances up from where he’s been scrolling aimlessly through his phone. The Bachelors on but it’s an old episode and it seems like every other channel is highlighting their humiliating defeat to the Bruins the night before. 

Jake’s sprawled out at the other end of the couch, long legs stretched out so he can tangle their feet together comfortably. 

“We don’t have enough space,” he says automatically thinking of all the space in B.C for Maggie to run in. There’s a sharp pang in his chest at the thought. 

“So we get a house,” Jake continues, undeterred. His big blue eyes sparkle and Morgan finds himself drawn easily into the fantasy. “Big windows, lots of light, and a big yard for our dogs to run around in.”

“Oh, dogs is it?” A smile pulls at his lips at the idea of Jake surrounded by a small herd of puppies. 

“Can’t have them getting lonely when we’re on roadies.” Jake shrugs. 

“We’re away too much.” He argues. “They’d spend too much time in a kennel.”

“So we’d get a sitter. Malkin has a dog and that guy travels a lot more than we do. He’s constantly somewhere warm.” They both glance out the window where the snow is falling in thick white clumps. Cold enough to fall as snow, wet enough to land as slush. He’s glad they’re inside where it’s nice and warm.

“Why do you know that?” Morgan nudges Jake’s toes. 

“I follow him on Instagram,”

_ Of course he does. _

“What about summers? When I’m in B.C and you’re in Minnesota?” He asks, humoring Jake. “Who gets custody of the kids then?”

Jake frowns like he hadn’t thought about that. He’d thought about getting a  _ house _ with Morgan, for their future dogs, but not about the months in between seasons where they didn’t see one another? Not that they don’t have standing invitations to each others homes, but life got in the way, and they were always too busy catching up with everyone they didn’t see during the year. 

“Guess I’ll just have to come and stay with you and the children,” he finally decides and the smile that spreads across his face is different from his normal one- smaller, but somehow  _ more. _

Morgan doesn’t look too closely at it.

“What brought on the urge to get a dog?” He asks instead, breaking the fantasy. Jake allows it, going back to his phone and whatever he was doing on it before this all started.

“You miss Maggie.” He says, eyes already back on his screen. He says it like it’s obvious, like  _ Morgan _ should have caught on to this sooner. 

He glances down at his own phone and the photos he had been idly scrolling through before- all of last summer, the majority of Maggie. 

Jake’s already watching him when he looks up, eyes warm and welcoming. Morgan pokes him with his toes.

“Wanna put a movie on?” 

“Only if we get to cuddle,” Jake keeps his face completely straight as he says it.

“Of course.” he manages to keep a straight face until he gets up to choose a movie and Jake suggests  _ Hotel for Dogs. _ Then he grabs a pillow and it’s every man for himself. 

They manage  _ not _ to kill each other; they end up cuddling instead.

::

Morgan’s woken from a fitful sleep as the bed dips and a hand grasps his shoulder, shaking him lightly. He’s warm, cocooned in his blankets, body sore from a tough game and a long, late night flight home. He grunts and mashes his face more firmly into his pillow. It feels like his head just touched the pillow, stuffed full of cotton, temples pulsing. 

“Time is it?” His throat feels like it’s lined with gravel, probably sounds worse.

“Noon,” Jake keeps his voice pitched low. The hand on Morgan’s shoulder slides up to his cheek, then his forehead. “Think you’re burning up, buddy.”

His hand is cool against Morgan’s skin and he presses into the touch without meaning to. Jake makes a soft sound but doesn’t pull away, cups his cheek, thumb stroking soothingly. 

“Sleepy,” he murmurs, the cool press of Jake’s hand lulling him back to sleep. 

“I’ll let the guys know we’re not meeting them for lunch,” Jake’s voice is soft, fond, and then his touch is gone and Morgan’s left mourning the loss. 

His bladder makes its presence known, insistent enough that he has to shake off the worst of the lethargy. He manages to roll out of bed, fighting his sluggish, heavy body the entire way. The bathroom light sends an ice pick through his skull and he fumbles it back off, eyes squeezed shut. Fuck, he feels hungover in the worst way, without the fun night before hand. 

He manages to make it over the toilet, relieving his bladder, and then to the sink. He’s out of breath by then and has to lean up against the cool counter until his legs feel steady enough to carry him back to his bed.

Jake’s back, he notices, as he shuffles back into the room. He gets the blankets pulled back and out of the way just before Morgan face plants into them, and then swiftly gets him wrapped back up in them.

It’s nice, makes him feel all warm and fuzzy.

“I got you gatorade and water,” Jake smooths Morgan’s sweaty hair back off his forehead. He slits his sore, burning eyes open enough to peer up at the outline of him in the dark. “We don’t have any cold meds in the apartment so Naz is bringing some by.” 

Morgan hums in agreement, sleep edging its way back in. His body feels heavy, slowly sinking into his mattress. 

“Stay?” he manages and Jake lets out a soft sound that Morgan doesn’t recognize. He’s too tired to care. 

“Sure,” comes the quiet reply and then the shifting of blankets as he gets comfortable. Morgan’s arms feel like lead but he manages to reach for him, wrap an arm around his waist and cuddle up to Jake’s side. His shoulder isn’t as comfortable as Morgan’s pillow but it works just as well apparently because he’s out like a light a moment later.

::

  
  


“I always knew you guys only loved me for my booze.” 

It’s a rare two days off, with no practice, and the boys are taking advantage of it. Ron’s house has a fully stocked wet bar so they’d shown up with chips and dip and had descended upon the basement with glee. Ron had let them, with the long suffering sigh of someone who knows he’s out numbered by a much younger team. 

“Where is everyone?” Muzz asks as he takes over the recliner, a bowl of chips in his lap and a whiskey in hand, because  _ what the trainers don’t know won’t hurt them. _

“Hayley and the kids are visiting her parents,” Ron rolls his eyes and chases Travis away from the harder liquor. “You’re a lightweight, find something else. We need to start having these get togethers at someone else’s house.”

“You make more than me,” Nikita says as Jake chimes in, “You’re the only one of us with a house.” 

“Like Mo’s apartment couldn’t fit us, I’ve seen how big that place is.” Ron points an accusing finger his way. “What was the point of getting your own place if you weren’t going to invite us over?” 

“We saw more of him when he and Jake were living together,” Travis agrees- the traitor. 

Morgan flips them both off, finishes the coke and vodka he's throwing together, and heads back to where Jake has saved him a seat on the couch. 

“Hainsey’s the one with the alcohol,” he passes Jake one of the glasses and settles in against his side. The basement’s a little chilly because Ron’s  _ always _ running hot and insists on keeping the heat down in the middle of the winter, but Jake is nice and warm, wrapping an arm around his shoulders easily. “And the giant tv- you guys wouldn’t want to go anywhere else even if you were invited.”

The protests are pretty much for show; the guys are nothing if not predictable.

“Will  _ someone _ start the movie?” Justin cuts in, his glass getting dangerously close to empty. “I was promised the most terrifying movie I’ve ever seen. I cancelled a  _ date _ for this.”

“You cancelled a date to hang out with  _ us?” _ Ron clutches his chest, horrified- the ham.  _ “Why?” _

“I’d cancel a date to hang out with you guys,” Jake glances over at Morgan. “I’ve done it before.”

Something warm winds its way through him at the statement. He gives Jake a pleased smile, figuring yeah, he’d do the same given the chance. Quality time with his defensemen, with  _ Jake, _ is worth the odd cancelled plan. 

He glances back over and catches Travis giving them an odd look.

_ ‘What?’ _ he mouths. Travis shakes his head, expression thoughtful. He quickly decides he doesn’t want to know, doesn’t care, especially with Jake’s thumb stroking gently against the side of his neck sending little shivers along his spine. He leans into the touch and forgets about the look altogether.

::

“So how long have you two been a thing?” Martin asks over pizza one day.

It’s a cool, fall day in early November, and they’re tucked into a booth at one of his favourite restaurants just off of Kensington. Martin had been called up from the Marlies again to fill in for injuries and Morgan had had an afternoon off so they’d ended up grabbing lunch. 

“Who?” Morgan asks around a mouthful of food. He reaches for his water to chase it down and nearly spits it back out when Martin says,

“You and Jake.”

_ “What?”  _

Martin squints at him. 

“Was I  _ not _ supposed to know? Cause you guys aren’t very subtle.”

“Subtle about  _ what?” _ Morgan demands- his chest feels tight but that’s probably from the water he inhaled. Martin’s trying to  _ kill him. _ “There’s absolutely nothing to be subtle about!”

“So, it’s not a secret then?” Martin hazzards. Morgan twists in his seat but he can’t spot any of the other guys around them like, hiding behind a fucking plant or something. “What are you doing?”

“I’m being punk’d,” Morgan mutters. Mitch is probably just around the corner by the washrooms with snapchat open, ready to go. Martin gives him a look that pretty clearly gets across how weird he thinks Morgan is acting. 

“Look, I don’t care what you guys do. I was just trying to be supportive or whatever.” He holds up his hands in surrender and goes back to his pizza. To his horror Morgan’s cheeks feel like they’re on fire- he must be bright enough to be seen from  _ space. _

“There’s nothing to be supportive of,” he reaches for his own slice only to find he’s not very hungry anymore. His stomach seems to have twisted itself into knots. “But, uh, thanks. I guess.”

Martin snorts. 

“I think you actually got weirder with the Leafs.”

“Fuck you,” Morgan shoots back, good naturedly. “You’re the one with anchovies on your pizza.”

“Yours is just boring. What’s the point of a pizza if you put nothing on it?” He takes an obnoxiously large bite of his pizza and Morgan has the misfortune of getting to watch as it’s chewed up. “So like,” Martin swallows- thank fuck- and continues. “Why  _ isn’t _ there anything going on between you two?”

Morgan’s blush comes back with a vengeance. 

“There’s nothing there,”

_ “Bullshit.” _

“Can we talk about something else?” Morgan cuts him off, loudly, before he can keep going. He’s feeling a little off centre, a little raw with how the conversation is going. 

Martin looks like he’d be happy to keep going but he shrugs, taking another huge bite of his pizza. 

“Sure, how about your terrible taste in pizza?” 

Morgan groans.

::

Morgan’s never been so furious in his  _ life. _

He’s seething as Mitch shows him the clip that’s already been posted to Twitter, of Jake fumbling the puck, of the fucking crowd  _ booing _ him every time he takes to the ice.

“How the fuck did we not notice?” 

“I thought it was directed at all of us,” Mitch shrugs but he looks like a deflated version of himself. 

It’s no secret that the fans have complicated relationships with the team. Most of the time they have die hard, cheering till the bitter end fans that come in from all over. Morgan knows how much Leafs tickets go far- the fact that people save up to come and see them is  _ amazing _ and it absolutely kills him when they disappoint them. 

But he remembers what happened when the fans turned on Phil. 

It makes him  _ sick _ to see them turning on Jake.

Morgan goes looking for him but he’s already disappeared from the locker room. Naz mentions the lounge but he’s not there either, or in with the trainers and Morgan starts to worry that he’s already left. In the years they’ve been playing together- living together or not- they haven’t left the rink separately unless sick or injured.

“Hey,” Nikita catches him as he’s debating on just going to the parking lot and looking for Jake’s car. “You’re looking for Gards, right?”

“Have you seen him?” He tries not to sound too desperate but it doesn’t work if the pitying look on his face is anything to go by. 

“Yeah, he’s down by the ice.”

Morgan doesn’t waste time, heads straight for the tunnel that leads them to the bench. The ice is empty when he gets there, the stands equally so, everyone having long since cleared out after another shit show of a game. There’s a lone figure sitting on the bench though. Jake’s shoulders are slumped in defeat but his head is held high, gaze on the rafters and the banners hanging there. He’s out of his pads but still in his compression leggings, hair dark with sweat. He doesn’t look over when Morgan joins him.

“Hey,” he presses their shoulders together, stomach twisting. He looks up into the stands and imagines the fans booing and has to look away. He doesn’t want to hate them, but at the moment he’s so disappointed in them. 

“Sorry,” Jake’s voice is rough, eyes a little red like maybe he hasn’t cried yet but he’s close. Morgan’s throat feels tight. “I was going to head back for a shower in a minute, just needed to…” he trails off like he’s not sure what he needed. 

Morgan wants to hit something, he wants to scream, rage against the injustice of such a big heart being torn apart because of a  _ game.  _ He wants to reach out, pull Jake close and protect him from the rest of the world. 

He does reach out to grasp Jake’s hand, tangling their fingers together and letting them rest on his thigh. Jake glances at him and there are questions in those big blue eyes that he can’t answer, not yet, so he looks away.

“You didn’t deserve that,” is what he says. He can feel Jake flinch but doesn’t let him pull away. “I don’t want to play for a city that will turn on us like this.”

“It’s not everyone,” Jake protests, because if anyone loves the city it’s  _ Jake. _ Even when they don’t always love him back. “They’re good people.” 

“It sure as hell doesn’t feel that way right now.” he squeezes Jake’s hand. “I’m going to say something.”

_ “Don’t.” _ Jake protests. “It’s done, it’s over with. Let’s move on.”

_ Like you are? _ Morgan wants to ask but Jake looks tired, worn down and he couldn’t bear to be the one to add to the weight on his shoulders. 

“Come on,” he pushes to his feet, using his hold on Jake to pull him after him and down the hall.

The locker room has cleared out by the time they get in there. Morgan is in his suit but he stops by his stall to strip out of it, half heartedly folding it. Jake’s stripped out of his clothes by then, a towel around his waist and Morgan follows him into the showers. He doesn’t bother grabbing his own shower head, pushes Jake gently to the side and fiddles with the faucet until the water is as hot as they can stand.

It’s not the first time they’ve done this- after a hard loss, or a rough day, after an abrupt exit from the playoffs again. He grabs the shampoo, squirting a palmful into his hand, and then nudges Jake’s head back so he can gently work it into his hair. 

The room is quiet, save for the sound of the water and their steady breathing. Jake’s eyes are shut, his features relaxed. Morgan takes his time working the shampoo in, massaging his scalp, watching with rapt attention the way the stress works its way out of his neck and shoulders. 

“C’mere,” he keeps his voice quiet but it still feels too loud. He tilts Jakes head under the stream of water and carefully works the soap from his hair. 

He lets his hands drop reluctantly when the water’s running clear and he can’t find a reason to keep going. Jake tilts his head forwards, blinking sleepy blue eyes at him. Morgan had already showered before Mitch had found him with the Tweet, so he shuts off the water and grabs their towels. He quickly dries off, then runs the other towel over Jake, from his shoulders, down his chest and back, legs and feet. He scrubs it over Jake’s hair and the ends stick straight up endearingly. 

He leaves Jake at his own locker to get dressed and then rushes through getting his own clothes back on. The disappointment that hits him when he turns and finds Jake dressed as well is surprising, so out of place that he shoves it away ruthlessly. He’d thought, what? That’d he help Jake dress as well? 

“Thanks,” Jake says as they head out to the parking lot. Their shoulders brush. “That helped.”

It’d helped Morgan as well, recentered him, stopped him from doing something he’d regret. Maybe. He can’t exactly say that though; it would be weird, telling Jake how much he likes taking care of him. 

It’s weird enough for Morgan. 

“Wanna stay over tonight?” He offers instead. “We still haven’t watched  _ Tango and Cash.” _

For the first time a genuine smile spreads across Jake's face.

“Throw in those chili-nachos you make and you’ve got a deal.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

::

The Leafs don’t resign Jake. 

It’s a rough summer- Jake spends a month waiting around Toronto and Morgan does his best to take his mind off the deadline but July first comes and goes and there’s still nothing. 

So Jake goes home. 

Auston’s been re-signed but they’re still waiting for Mitch so Morgan spends most of the summer in B.C. fielding panicked calls from Auston and Mitch about whether the latter will be there for camp. 

Jake’s strangely quiet throughout it all leaving it up to Morgan to reach out, to call, offering for him to come and stay, to go and visit him in Minnesota, to rent a cottage for a few weeks. He knows it’s hitting him hard, the silence from the Leafs with his contract up, the silence from all the teams that were supposedly going to scoop him up. 

Morgan’s been following the news obsessively, calling all the guys he knows that might have  _ some  _ idea of what’s happening. Jake’s tight lipped about it, won’t talk about it when pressed, and Morgan hates the dull, defeated tone he gets when it’s brought up.

So he stops asking. 

He ends up back in Toronto in August, a week before camp. He’s too anxious to stay in B.C, wants to be closer to the action. Just in case.

It’s cool having Tyson in the city, a familiar face even when he’s wondering why the fuck Colorado gave him up. Sometimes people are just  _ made _ for their teams, a seamless fit, and he’d honestly thought that’s what Tyson had had in Colorado.

It hurts to have Naz go. 

The team has a completely different look during camp- they’ve traded so many of their guys and it shows in the broken passes and miscues. It shows in the way Freddie’s gaze lingers on Brownies old locker, in the way Johnny looks for Naz to share an inside joke about minors. 

The faces around him are so young and Morgan wonders if he was ever like that.

He mentions it to Jake once and he laughs. The sound is so welcomed that Morgan just sits there, phone clutched tightly in hand and listens until it tapers off and Jake chirps him about becoming an old man. 

A few days into September he gets a text from Jake.

_ Gonna be a cane!! _

It’s like a huge weight has been lifted off of him as he reads and rereads those four words. He types out a response, a quick  _ way to go! _ He deletes it just as fast.  _ Miss you, _ is next but he doesn’t send that either.

He calls instead.

“Always knew you liked that bunch of jerks,” he says when Jake picks up. He gets the familiar, deep, throaty laugh in response and has to duck his head, pleased. “Congrats, man. I’m happy for you.”

_ “Thanks, I was starting to get a little worried to be honest.” _ Morgan wishes he were there to curl close, reassure him, like he hadn’t been going crazy all summer himself.

“I knew it was only a matter of time.” And he had; Jake can skate like the wind, someone was going to recognize that and snatch him up. The waiting had fucking  _ sucked _ though. “Need some help apartment hunting?”

_ “Moms flying in on Tuesday, and you have camp.” _

“They wouldn’t miss me for a few days.” 

_ “Your defence just became eighty percent rookies and new guys,” _ Jake points out and Morgan hates that he’s right.  _ “They’re definitely going to need you there.”  _

“Rather be there,” he mutters, painfully honest. There’s a long pause and for a second Morgan wonders if he’s said the wrong thing, but then Jake says,  _ “Yeah, me too buddy,” _ and something in his chest eases.

::

They don’t play Carolina until December 23rd. 

It’s the longest three months of Morgan’s  _ life, _ which, while it may  _ sound _ dramatic, is completely appropriate. Zach and Travis are out for the beginning of the season with injuries left over from the chaos of last year's playoffs, and once they’re healthy they lose first Mitch to injury and then Babs is fired. 

They’re all reeling and December is just getting started.

A few of the defensemen pick up their get togethers, like they did with Ron, but with less alcohol and more video games. Mo’s grateful for it, for the way they band together. It’s something that’s been missing this year, the closeness of the previous seasons, of a team that had been through so much together. Of the original team he’d joined, he’s the last one left. 

The Hurricanes fly in the day before the game and Morgan has to keep busy to keep from driving out to the airport and just kidnapping Jake. The anticipation has been building all week, since he spotted the reminder on his calendar and it hit him just how  _ close _ it was.

“Mini golf,” Justin spreads his arms out before him as Morgan gets out of the car. 

“Mini golf.” Morgan repeats, unimpressed as he stares up at the concrete building before them. He watches as a group of teenagers emerge from within, giggling and dressed in shades of neon. 

“Glow in the dark.” Martin adds in, clapping him on the shoulder. “To get your boyfriend off your mind for a bit.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he replies automatically. “The indoor driving range was closed, wasn’t it.”

Justin and Martin exchange shifty looks.

“Nah man,” Travis bounds past him for the door. “Glow in the dark is just cool.” 

“Don’t tell him about the driving range.” Martin adds quietly as he drags Morgan along. 

Mini golf doesn’t suck. It’s not as fun as being out on the green under the warm summer sun, driving a golf cart over the hills and slopes slightly faster than they should, but he can’t find anything to complain about. Aside from a family a way off, they basically have the place to themselves. The chirping starts at the second hole when Justin manages to hit the third instead and only gets worse from there. They make it through in under an hour and this time it’s Morgan offering to pay for a second round. 

A few kids recognize them the second time around and they invite them to join them for the rest of the game. They get hilariously schooled by a bunch of eight year olds.

Morgan tries to beg off of lunch, the Hurricanes must be settled at their hotel by now, but the guys are persistent and he finds himself fighting downtown traffic with a car full of defencemen. 

Jake’s waiting out front as he pulls up to the doors and the smile that lights up his face is  _ stunning. _ Justin gets stuffed in the back seat, the guys chirping Morgan as he puts the car in park and hurries around the front. 

It’s like coming home, as cheesy as that sounds, sinking into the embrace of Jake’s arms. The feel of him, the  _ scent _ ; the familiarity hits him like a sledge hammer and he has to blink to clear the burning sensation in his eyes. He clings, afraid that if he loosens his hold even a little, Jake will disappear again, turning out to only be a wistful dream. Jake clings back, just as tight. Neither of them let go for quite some time.

They choose an old favourite to go to for lunch and Morgan makes sure to seat himself next to Jake, their thighs pressed together under the table. He can’t quite seem to keep his hands to himself, reaching out to catch his attention, resting his arm across the back of his chair, toying with the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Jake lets him, leans into the casual touches easily, like he’s missed them just as much as Morgan has. 

He gets them caught up on life in Carolina, on what it’s like to play for the team, with Slavin and Hamilton and the other van Riemsdyk brother. They get him caught up on the gossip, on Travis’  _ massive _ crush on Andreas, and all the young faces on the roster. And then Morgan not so subtly tells the rest of the guys to get lost, ready to have Jake all to himself. 

They wind up back at his apartment. Jake’s first trip back to the city, they could hit up all their old haunts, meet up with all the old friends; instead when Morgan asks what he wants to do he gives him this slow sweet smile and says,

“How about a movie?” 

They end up missing most of the movie, just talking, catching up and reminiscing. They’re at opposite ends of the couch but their feet are tangled together in the middle. The afternoon flies by and one movie turns to two. They order in and eat on the coffee table, shoulders pressed together, like they’ve only been apart a few days and not months. 

Morgan counts every happy smile Jake gives him and greedily stores it away for later. 

They’re both cracking yawns as the night goes on. 

“I should get going,” Jake makes no move to get up off the couch though, eyes half lidded, relaxed. 

“Think Brind’Amour would kill you if you just stayed here tonight?” He’s only half teasing. The spare bedroom is made up with fresh sheets, but he’d give up his own bed and sleep on the couch if Jake wanted it. 

“Probably,” Jake huffs out a laugh and finally pushes to his feet. “No matter how much I want to stay.” He grabs his phone to call an Uber and then together they take the leftover food and dirty dishes to the kitchen. 

Morgan walks him down to the lobby, not ready to say goodbye yet. Jake seems reluctant to go too, pressing close and pulling Morgan in for a tight hug. 

“Pick you up for lunch tomorrow?” Morgan offers, pressing his face against his neck.

“Yeah, it’s a date.” Jake squeezes him tight and then reluctantly lets go to catch his Uber before it leaves. 

Morgan’s apartment feels too big, too quiet when he gets back upstairs. He grabs the pillows off the spare bed and stuffs them under his own sheets, trying to alleviate the oppressive feeling of loneliness. 

::

_ “What’d the doc’s say?”  _

Morgan’s sprawled out on his couch, pillow under his ankle and ice pack on top. His aircast is on the floor within easy reach. Everything from his knee down is throbbing in time with his heart.

“At least eight weeks,” He’s tired, exhaustion seeping into his bones and leaving him feeling torn apart and flayed open. His eyes slip closed, heavy and sore. The pain meds they gave him at the hospital are kicking in, taking the worst of the deep ache in his leg. “Probably more because I had already pulled something.”

_ “Man, that sucks. I’m sorry.” _ With his eyes shut he can almost pretend that Jake’s in the room with him and not hundreds of miles away.  _ “How’re you feeling?” _ Mo grunts and Jake laughs.  _ “Yeah you’re right. Stupid question.” _

“Keefe says I should skip practice tomorrow, take it easy.”

_ “You should. You need to take better care of yourself.”  _

“Says the guy who tried to play through a back injury last year.” He reaches out blindly for the gatorade and manages to knock the remote off the table in the process. It’s yellow, the only colour they’d had at the store when Tyson had run by for him. He hates yellow. 

_ “It was the playoffs.” _ Jake protests. And then, playing dirty,  _ “You have to look after yourself since I can’t be there to do it.” _

_ Ouch. _

His chest feels tight as he toys with the bottle. There are days where Morgan misses him like a phantom limb- turning to say something to him, to share a look with him, only to remember that he’s not there. It leaves him with a sick, falling feeling every time. Jake, sensing Morgan’s mood, clears his throat and changes the subject.

_ “Martin says Travis and Mango finally got together?” _

He drops the bottle onto the floor, peering suspiciously up the ceiling.

“Why are you talking to Martin?”

_ “He started texting me a few weeks ago. I thought you’d given him my number.” _

“No,” he scowls, not used to the surge of something ugly and possessive that sweeps over him.

_ “So you didn’t give Justin or Travis my number either?” _ He sounds amused. Morgan isn’t. 

“What have you guys been talking about?” He tries to keep his voice even but he’s not sure he manages. Jake doesn’t call him on it, just sounds entertained. 

_ “Justin and Martin have been keeping me up to date on the Mango situation. Next time I’m in town dinner’s on me by the way, I cleaned up on that bet. Travis has been sending me photos for some reason.” _

“Photos.” Morgan repeats, unimpressed. Sounds like he’s going to be having a  _ talk _ with the boys once he gets off the phone. 

_ “Yeah, I actually like them. Travs got a good eye.” _

“What kind of photos?” Morgan demands, mind automatically going to the Instagram photos he’s seen Travis post. If he’s sending Jake shirtless selfies Morgan is going to  _ kill him. _

_ “Hold on, I’ll send you one of my favourites.” _

It takes a minute for the little text alert to go off and he scoops his phone off his chest quickly. He’s expecting some ridiculous photo of Travis, dreading it, so it’s a surprise when he finds his own face staring back at him. It’s a team breakfast, he recognizes that they’re in a hotel but not where, and he  _ appears _ to be listening intently to Mitch, but there’s a cup of coffee clutched tightly in his hands and he has terrible bed head. It’s soft, some sort of filter smoothing out the edges. 

Morgan clears his throat. “He’s sending you pictures of the team?” 

_ “I mean, some of the guys are in them. But no, just of you.” _ Jake says like he isn’t rocking Morgan’s world.  _ “Makes the distance a little easier.” _ There’s a raw honesty to his voice and Morgan has to shut his eyes momentarily, overwhelmed.  _ “Mo?” _

“One sec,” Morgan says quickly, pulling up his camera and snapping a photo. It’s not great, objectively. There are dark bags under his eyes, his hair could be better. Jake’s seen him looking worse. He sends the picture. “You know, it’s not fair.”

_ “What isn’t?” _ he hears the soft inhalation of breath as Jake gets the photo. 

“That you’re getting photos of me but I’m not getting any of you.” The sentence is loaded he realizes as he says it. 

_ “Snapchat doesn’t count?” _ There’s a gentle teasing to his voice and Morgan relaxes, hadn’t realized how tense he was until it eases. His phone dings and he opens it up to find Jake’s smiling face. He’s in a dark room, soft lighting in the background casting a golden hue over his skin. His eyes are huge and warm, his smile sweet. Morgan saves it to his phone.

“Nope, need something more permanent.” 

_ “I guess we can fix that.” _ Jake chuckles and warmth blooms in his chest at the sound.

::

“Why the hell are you texting Jake?” 

Justin freezes. He’s got his phone in his hands and it’s pure luck that Morgan had hobbled back from the kitchen on his crutches as he had it open. 

“What, the man can’t have friends?” Martin demands. He hasn’t looked up from his own phone and Morgan has a sneaking suspicion that if he were to check he’d be texting Jake as well. 

He wants to say  _ no; _ they can have friends, just not  _ Jake. _

“You’re clearly making him jealous,” Tyson throws in and Morgan reminds himself that he’s not allowed to murder teammates. At least not until the off season. “You know how he is about Gards.”

“Gards?” Morgan repeats, wondering when the new defensemen became so chummy with Jake. He narrows his eyes at Tyson. “You’ve been texting him too, haven’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tyson lies, voice getting higher. 

“You have ten seconds to explain or I send that photo of you hungover to Landeskog,” Morgan threatens, pulling out his phone as he collapses on the couch. For all that they’re being little  _ shits, _ they’re also determined to take care of him and Justin sacrifices his phone to help Morgan settle his ankle on a cushion on the coffee table. It’s sweet, but Morgan still has every intention of murdering his defensemen. He’ll play  _ both _ sides if he has to.

“You  _ wouldn’t.” _

“I  _ would,” _ Morgan’s already scrolling through his photos for the incriminating picture.

“Don’t you dare,” Martin warns but it’s no use, Tyson’s already spilled, “You two need to just admit you’re in  _ love!” _

Morgan goes  _ very _ still. 

It gets  _ very _ quiet.

“Is this an intervention?” Cody, who’s been blissfully silent up until now, decides to chime in. “Did we decide to have another intervention? I thought one was enough.”

“This is  _ not _ an intervention,” 

“It is!” Martin cuts Morgan off, ignoring the glare that’s sent his way. “Because we all agree that you two have been oblivious for too long,”

_ “Way _ worse than Trav and Mango were,” Justin adds in helpfully, the asshole. 

“Way worse than those two,” Martin agrees. 

“How do I keep getting invited to these things and Muzz gets out of it?” Cody demands.

“Seniority,” Tyson throws in, like that makes any sense. Then he turns his big brown puppy eyes on Morgan, like  _ that  _ will have any effect. Morgan lived with  _ Jake Gardiner, _ no one’s got puppy eyes like he does. “We care about you Mo, and you’re clearly pining over Gards. You should  _ embrace _ it, don’t run from that chiselled jaw and sculpted body,” Morgan’s eyebrows shoot up but Tyson doesn’t seem to be talking to  _ him _ anymore. “You’ve gotta seize the day, man. Go after your greek god of a man and tell him how you feel.”

There’s a long pause as Tyson slowly comes back from wherever the hell he just went.

“Oh- _ kay,” _ Martin claps his hands, forging ahead despite how awkward that just was. “Does anyone else want to share?” 

“If anyone else shares,” Morgan cuts in as Justin opens his mouth. “You can all get out and I’ll eat all the takeout myself.” 

Justin’s mouth snaps shut. 

“How about we find a movie to watch,” Cody says with the kind of forced cheer that says he’d much rather be  _ anywhere _ else. 

“I love the way you think,” Morgan says as Tyson snatches up the remote. He pulls up Netflix and Morgan relaxes, figuring that’s the end of it.

“How about  _ Friends with Benefits? _ They won’t admit they’re in love either.” 

“I’m going to  _ strangle you.” _

::

Morgan’s curled up in bed, duvet wrapped tightly around him and half asleep when he gets a text. The phone’s somewhere in the sheets, close enough to his head that the buzzing startles him and he fumbles for it, trying to find the irritating device so he can go back to sleep. His hand closes around it as it buzzes again and he squints bleary eyes at the screen, a smile tugging at his lips when he sees who it is.

_ Hey ur not going anywhere for bye week right _ , is followed closely by,  _ probably should have asked that sooner _

He huffs out a laugh, rolling onto his back and typing out a quick reply.

_ Home all week _

Then, feeling brave, he snaps a quick picture of himself laying in bed, the late morning sun streaming falling across his skin and painting him in warm hues. He sends it.

A moment later he gets a text back, 

_ Don’t freak out _

He doesn’t have long to wonder what  _ that _ means when the sound of his front door opening reaches his ears. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment, disbelieving, and then scrambles out of bed, grabbing for his crutches. He’s in his boxers, no aircast, hobbling out to the sight of Jake Gardiner standing in his living room, suitcase at his feet.

It’s the best sight he’s seen in  _ ages. _

“What the hell are you doing here?” He’s beaming as he says it. Jake meets him halfway, throws his arms around him and yanks him in for a bone crushing hug. His crutches go crashing to the floor but he doesn’t need them, not when Jake’s there holding him up, pressing close. 

“Heard the guys weren’t taking very good care of you and I have a few days off,” Jake’s lips brush his neck and he shivers, the sensation unexpected. “Figured I’d fly in and we could watch the All Star game together.”

Jake helps him back to his room, hurrying back to scoop up the crutches as Morgan manages to get into a pair of sweats and t-shirt. He doesn’t need the boot if he’s just hanging out around the apartment so he forgoes it for the time being. It has the bonus effect of Jake wrapping one strong arm around his waist and helping him hobble to the couch. He’s spent the past  _ week _ on the couch, but it’s far more bearable with Jake fussing over him, helping him get comfortable and then ducking around the island to get started on breakfast for them both. 

Something warm and happy lodges itself in his chest and refuses to leave.

They take it easy the first day, watching movies and playing video games until they’re both cracking yawns. Jake makes sure he’s settled in bed before heading for the guest room for the night. It’s on the tip of his tongue to invite Jake to stay, to curl up next to him. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done it, surely wouldn’t be the last. He manages to swallow back the words, worried he’ll come across as too  _ needy. _ Instead he listens to the sounds of Jake moving about, getting ready for sleep until they quiet down and then he presses his hand to the wall above his head, the wall separating them, and closes his eyes, picturing the way Jake’s breathing evens out, his face going slack with sleep until he manages to drift off himself.

He goes a little stir crazy the next day so they grab an Uber and head out to a patio. It’s unseasonably warm, all the snow melting and turning to slush, and bundled up next to a heater they spend a comfortable hour before having to duck into the restaurant as the wind picks up and with it the chill. 

They drop by Zach’s and spend a few hours there before Morgan’s advil starts to wear off and he’s left feeling achy and sore. Jake notices and makes their excuses, ushering him into a waiting Uber and back to the apartment. 

“I could get used to this,” Morgan admits over dinner. They’re eating on the couch again, his foot elevated and iced under Jake’s watchful gaze. Jake’s made them stir fry, something he’d apparently picked up in Carolina seeing as before he left Toronto, they generally lived off of easy meals and already prepared dishes. 

“What?” Jake’s attention is split between  _ Stranger Things _ and Morgan, and he takes his time looking his fill. Jake’s hair is a little longer, a little darker, but the familiar line of his jaw, brilliant blue of his eyes is the same.

“Having you wait on me,” he teases. 

That draws Jake’s attention. He flicks a piece of broccoli at Morgan who manages to catch it. He pops it in his mouth with a grin.

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” Jake warns but it’s too late, Morgan’s already smirking.

“Nurse Gardiner,” he flutters his eyelashes. “Could you fluff my pillows?”

“I’ll  _ smother _ you with your pillows.”

_ “Nurse,” _ Morgan gets cut off with a pillow to the face. Cackling he tosses it away. Somehow he managed to keep from spilling his plate all over the floor. 

“Don’t expect any sponge baths,” Jake mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. Morgan eyes him, thinking about those long legs and thick thighs in one of those skimpy nurse skirts. He ruthlessly pushes the image aside, cheeks blazing. The guys are starting to get to him. 

They watch the All Star skills competition, cheering the boys on, booing when Mitch is blatantly robbed with a technicality. Weber’s slapshot is a thing of beauty and they spend awhile wondering at what would have happened had Ovechkin been there, how close the pair might have come. They end up arguing over who might have won, leaving it unsettled as the night progresses. The texts and snapchats have been streaming in all day but pick up after the competition and they get a chance to party. After the third snap of Auston zooming in on Mitch’s  _ ‘beautiful’ _ face, they call it a night.

The games the next day are fun to watch; it’s pretty clear who’s actually trying and who’s just fucking around. They pick up pretty quickly after the second round and by the end of it Morgan’s feeling a little jealous that he’s missing out on playing with all these great players. It sucks that this is the only event where they get to mix and mingle, at odds with each other for the rest of the year. 

The jealousy passes pretty quickly though, when they turn off the games and cue up  _ Stranger Things. _ Jake helps him get settled, sprawled back against the arm of the couch, pillows propping him up and his feet in Jake’s lap. Gentle hands fall to his good foot, working strong fingers along the arch until Morgan’s a puddle of goo, eyes half lidded, watching Jake and wondering how he got so lucky.

Eventually though, the bye week ends. The Leafs have a string of away games but Morgan’s ankle hasn’t healed enough to be considered day to day, so he’s stuck at home. He manages to ditch the crutches for short periods of time, relying on the boot more but it leaves him sore and irritable. 

The Hurricanes have a few home games so Jake gets to head home and relax before their first stint against Vegas at least. Morgan spends the last day before he’s set to fly out cranky, short tempered and unsure why. 

Jake takes it all in stride, as calm as he ever is, ignoring the worst of Morgan’s sulking, and drawing him out when he can. They spend the morning eating pancakes and playing video games. He manages to talk Morgan into going out in the afternoon, drags him off to Gardiner museum and manages to get them a private lesson in the basement with the pottery wheels. 

They’re hilariously terrible at it.

Morgan ends up covered in clay, from his aircast to his neck, splattered all over despite the smock they’d given him. Jake manages to get clay in his hair and across his cheek when he leans in too close and the clay is too wet.

He hasn’t laughed this hard in  _ ages. _

The goal was to make a bowl and he  _ thinks _ they each succeeded, in the loosest sense of the word. The mangled mess of their bowls says otherwise but their instructor assures them that he’s seen worse. Morgan’s not sure he believes him.

They have to leave their bowls there to be finished in the kiln and Jake has Morgan promise to pick them up in a few days. They have a standing date to paint them the next time Jake is in town.

They spend the evening the same way they’ve spent the last few evenings: Morgan propped up against the arm of the couch, his feet in Jake’s lap. The tv’s on but they’re not paying much attention, talking instead about their season’s so far, about the run for the playoffs. They’re up late, despite Jake’s early flight out. He won’t let Morgan come with him to the airport, insists he needs his beauty sleep. It hurts, but Morgan thinks it would hurt worse to have to watch him disappear into the terminal and know he’s boarding a plane to leave him again.

“Hey,” Jake wakes him in the morning with a gentle hand on his shoulder. He’s in his coat already, hair gelled and breath minty-fresh. He’d set his alarm to wake up with Jake, to get that little bit of extra time together, but he must have slept through it. “Didn’t want to disturb you,” Jake says, handing over Morgan’s phone. He stares at it dumbly for a moment before it clicks in. 

“Wanted to get up with you,” Morgan tosses his phone onto the side table. He stretches, feeling his joints pop. 

“I poked my head in earlier,” Jake takes a seat on the side of the bed and Morgan rolls over, curling an arm around his waist. Jake places his hand on top of Morgans, stroking gently. “But you looked too cute to disturb.”

“‘M not  _ cute,” _ Morgan protests, eyes sliding shut. “Handsome maybe.”

Jake laughs softly. 

“Yeah, alright. You’re handsome.”

Morgan peels his eyes open to smile up at him. 

“You should just stay,” he blurts out. Jake’s face goes through a series of complicated expressions and Morgan’s smile slips. He pulls his arm back and Jake lets him, scrubs his palms over his face. “Sorry, half asleep. The ‘Canes would be lost without you.”

“They don’t need me.” There’s a strangely self deprecating tone to his voice that has Morgan peering up at him, worried. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Jake shrugs it off, smile coming back easily. “Next game’s end of February; I think I’ll have the next day off. We can go paint our bowls then.”

“I’ll make sure to keep it free.” Morgan promises, already counting the days until then.

“It’s a date.” Jake says, then pauses. There’s something oddly vulnerable about his expression that has Morgan sitting up, that old protective instinct that seems to mostly rear its head in relation to Jake Gardiner rising up, leaving his chest tight. He’ll take on anyone Jake asks him to and those that he doesn’t. He’s gearing up for a fight, so it catches him off guard when Jake asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Morgan freezes. He’s waiting for Jake to play it off as a joke, he realizes, sitting there, waiting for the punchline. It doesn’t come though; there’s just Jake and those big blue eyes, honest and open.

“You can say no,” Jake says like Morgan’s world hasn’t suddenly found itself tilted on its axis, but it’s the easy acceptance, the offer of an easy out, that has Morgan saying, “No, it’s fine. Go ahead.” 

He’s not sure what he’s expecting. Jake places a hand on his jaw, warm and steady, and that’s not so strange. He’s used to Jake touching him. And then he leans in and Morgan’s reminded he probably has  _ terrible _ morning breath and considers stopping him just so he can quickly brush his teeth, but the thought flies from his head at the first, dry press of their lips.

It’s not much- their eyes stay open throughout it, just a gentle press, a little firmer when Jake tilts his head and moves his lips. He’s frozen, held in place by Jake’s big hands cupping his face and the sweet bolts of electricity racing through his veins. Morgan forgets to kiss back until Jake’s pulling away and then it’s too late. His lips are tingling and he lifts a hand to press against them like he’ll be able to feel the little shocks of electricity there. Jake’s lips are red, are always so,  _ so  _ red, but this time Morgan knows that it’s because he’d been kissing Morgan a few seconds before. For one wild moment he’s tempted to reach out, reel him in again and kiss him  _ properly. _ But they don’t do that, and he doesn’t know what this is, so he doesn’t.

“You’re not freaking out, right?” Jake asks and  _ wow, _ there’s a husk to his voice that wasn’t there before. Heat pools low in his stomach; he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Only a little,” he admits. “Are you?”

Jake shrugs. “Only a little.”

They smile at each other, a little helpless, before Jake pushes to his feet.

“Walk me out?” He glances at the aircast sitting next to the bed. “Or, hobble I guess.”

“Fuck you,” Morgan shoots back and just like that some of the tension in the room eases. Jake waits for him to get the boot on and then helps him down the hall. He takes the excuse to press close to him, despite not really needing the help as much anymore. Jake’s bag is waiting next to the door and when he pulls away, Morgan lets him go reluctantly. 

“See you in a few weeks,” he promises and Morgan’s left with a million things to say on the tip of his tongue as the door swings shut behind him.

::

_ “Hypothetically _ what would you do if someone kissed you out of the blue?” 

Tyson nearly drops the beer bottle in his hand. Thank fuck it’s just the two of them at Tyson’s, there’s no way Morgan would have been able to do this in public, or around the rest of the guys. They had a tendency to get  _ ideas _ and those never ended well. At their feet, Ralph perks up from where he’s been dozing for the past half hour.

“Someone kissed you?” He demands, gleeful. Morgan’s already regretting asking.  _ “Who?” _

“I said  _ hypothetically!” _ He snaps, flustered.

Tyson rolls his eyes, taking a drink. “Yeah, like I’d fall for that again.”

“Do you want to know or not?” Morgan threatens, ready to grab his crutches and hobble home if he has to. Tyson holds up his hands in surrender quickly.

“So you said hypothetically,”

Morgan can’t believe he’s doing this. He has to tell  _ someone  _ though and the person he’d usually go to is the cause of his current problems. If it can be  _ called _ a problem. They don’t talk about it, but they don’t  _ avoid _ it either. He’d last half an hour before texting Jake to have a safe flight, unable to fall back asleep, mind buzzing with  _ that. _ Jake had messaged back immediately, almost like he’d been waiting for Morgan and they’d been normal since then. 

Except for the part where Morgan can’t help thinking about how soft his lips had been, or how blue his eyes.

He picks at the label of his beer bottle and tries to find the words. 

_ “Oh my god,” _ Tyson says suddenly and Morgan’s head shoots up. The biggest grin he’s ever seen is working its way across Tyson’s face and it’s with dawning horror that he realizes he’s figured it out. “Oh. My. God!”

“I hate you,” Morgan groans and chugs half his bottle.

“Gards  _ kissed _ you?” The glee in Tyson’s voice is indecent. 

“Where the fuck is your liquor?” Morgan grouches, placing his empty on the table. He’s going to need something  _ a lot _ stronger for this conversation. 

“Stay there,” Tyson lunges to his feet. “I’ll grab it. We can celebrate!”

“There’s nothing to celebrate!” Morgan calls back. Ralph rests his head on his knee and he glances down as Tyson rushes out of the room. He scratches between the dog's ears. “Your owner is a dick,” he tells him, conspiratory.

“Don’t go telling my son lies.” Tyson hurries back in, a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers clutched in his hands. “Or you won’t be his favourite uncle anymore.”

“I thought Auston was his favorite uncle.”

“Auston won’t tell me what’s going on with him and Marns, he got downgraded.” Tyson pours them each a generous amount and then hands over one of the glasses. “You just got upgraded.”

“I feel so loved,” his voice is as dry as the desert.

“Loved by at least  _ one _ defenceman,” Tyson retorts. Morgan takes a big mouthful of whiskey and tries not to choke as it goes down. “So what happened? Did he take you out? Confess his  _ love?” _

“What?  _ No!” _ Tyson stares at him expectantly. “I just,” Morgan flushes and takes another steadying, smaller, sip of whiskey. “He asked if he could kiss me.”

_ “And?” _ He demands.

“And I said sure.”

Tyson stares at him for a moment. Then he looks to Ralph. 

“EJ is your only intelligent uncle.” 

“Hey!” 

“You said  _ sure? _ That’s  _ it?” _ The look Tyson gives him is exasperated. “Have I taught you nothing?” 

“Um, no?”

“Okay, fair.” Tyson allows. He reaches for his whiskey, taking a sip with a grimace. “I keep forgetting how gross this is.”

“I’ll bring you something sweet next time,” Morgan promises.

“Next time you better have done something about this man, it’s getting ridiculous.” Tyson leaves his whiskey on the table and ducks into the kitchen, reemerging a moment later with two fruity coolers. He takes a sip with a happy sigh and settles back into the cushions. Ralph hops up, sprawled out between them, close enough so they can both pet him. His fur is soft and fuzzy under Morgan’s fingers, centering when Tyson looks at him again, devilish glint in his eyes and says, “How was the kiss?” 

Morgan’s cheeks are burning. 

“It was barely a kiss,” he mumbles, going back to his whiskey. It’s making him feel warm, making this all a little less awkward.

“Apparently pretty memorable though,” Tyson teases.

“It’s not every day your best friend kisses you out of nowhere!”

“Yeah, we can’t all be that lucky,” he says wistfully. “But you liked it.”

It’s not a question. Morgan can’t deny it either; it feels like it’s all he’s been able to think about, the dry press of Jake’s lips against his own, the heat in his stomach, the way he’d  _ frozen. _

Ralph licks his hand and he decides it’s a show of support.

“So what the hell do I do?” He groans. Tyson gives him a sympathetic look.

“What do you want to do? Do you want to kiss him again?” Morgan’s face is  _ scorching _ when he nods, helplessly. “Then what’s stopping you? Go get your man!” Tyson holds out a fist and Morgan can’t deny him, bumps their fists together. 

“It’s not that easy,” he’s not whining. He’s being logical.

“How?” Tyson boggles at him. “You’re bros, you like each other, I literally do not see any problems here.”

“What if it messes everything up?” He doesn’t know why he’s entertaining these thoughts at all. He’s not going to  _ do _ anything. It’s the whiskey- it’s putting  _ ideas _ in his head. He sets his tumbler down on the coffee table, sinking both hands into Ralphs fur to the dogs delight. “Listen, a single kiss doesn’t  _ mean _ anything.”

“Sure,” Tyson rolls his eyes. “Cause I go around kissing my bros  _ all the time.” _ He throws one of the pillows at Morgan. His reflexes are slow enough that he barely manages to catch it before it hits him in the face. Then he whips it back at him. Ralph doesn’t budge through the exchange.

“What do you want out of it? A hookup?” Morgan shakes his head vehemently. Jake is hot- he has  _ eyes _ okay? But he’s not the  _ love them and leave them _ type, especially with someone he loves. “A relationship?” 

Morgan shrugs. What he wants is for Jake to  _ be there. _ But he’s not; there’s hundreds of miles separating them. 

“Yeah, no offense but you don’t seem like the type to hook up.”

“I could,” he protests, but it’s weak. 

“I don’t hook up either. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Tyson snags the second cooler off the table, switching out his empty. “We’re both too busy pining I think.”

“I’m starting to hate that word,” he grumbles. 

“I mean, you have a chance to stop pining at least.” Tyson points out. “Seize the day, man!”

He holds his fist out again and Morgan sighs but gives in, bumping them together. 

::

He thinks it’s going to be terrifying talking to Jake on the phone after that but it’s not. He doesn’t even think about it, see’s something funny in the group chat and has Jake on speaker phone before he even realizes it. When he  _ does _ remember the conversation with Tyson, Jake is in the middle of a story about Aho and wasabi ice cream and he can’t just  _ interrupt _ him to like, freak out or whatever. He doesn’t mention it and Jake doesn’t mention it and they’re fine.

They text a few times a day normally, so Morgan doesn’t notice right away how he’s constantly reaching for his phone now, either to send a picture or a funny thought to Jake, or to find one already waiting for him. The guys notice and chirp him for it, asking about his new girlfriend, asking how the honeymoon phase is. He ignores them, ignores the strange feeling in his chest when he sees his screen light up or when barely a minute goes by and Jake’s replying to him. 

“If you guys get married, who gets to be your best man?” Justin asks, sprawled out across the loveseat in Travis’ living room. He’s got an Xbox controller held loosely in his hands, half his attention on the screen and still managing to soundly beat Cody. 

“We’re not getting married.” Morgan snaps a picture of Justin’s slouch and sends it to Jake.

_ Professional athlete??? _ He sends with a grin.

“Can I call dibs?” Tyson hands him a glass of water and sinks down onto the couch next to Morgan. “What?” He puts on a show of his big innocent puppy eyes. Morgan’s not buying it. “It’s not like you can be each other's best man.”

“I mean, they could, it’d just be weird,” Cody scowls as his character dies a bloody death on screen. “Can we switch to some CHEL? This game is bullshit.”

“Only if I get to play as Freddie.”

Cody hesitates- the guys have a weird fascination with playing as Freddie and tend to fight over it- but ultimately how much he hates losing wins out. He sets about switching out the games and Justin sits up a little further. It was looking like he was in danger of sliding off the couch.

Morgan’s phone buzzes and he glances down at it, a smile already pulling at his lips.

_ Beer belly next, _ is what Jake says, followed up by a picture of himself, shirtless by the pool.

_ No beer belly there i c, _ Morgan saves the photo to his phone before he can overthink it. It’s the Canes day off in Vegas and Jake had mentioned a few of the guys wanting to hit up the casinos and a show. Apparently he’d decided to relax for awhile instead. 

_ Just lots of sun, _ Jake responds quickly. He gets another photo, this one of the pool. He thinks he recognizes a few of the faces in the water. He doesn’t save this one.

_ Looking good _

“When are you going to make an honest man of Gards?” Travis asks from his seat next to Cody on the floor. He’s watching Morgan with a far too knowing look. 

“I can’t do the impossible,” he chirps and goes back to his phone. 

_ Gonna send me one too? _

Morgan grins and snaps a quick picture to the chirping and hollering of the guys. 

_ Thought you’d be tired of my mug by now, _ he sends.

_ Never, _ is the immediate response.

He has to duck his head to hide his smile.

::

The home game against North Carolina rolls around in no time at all. There’s a tight ball of anticipation and anxiety sitting in the middle of his stomach. He has trouble sleeping the night before, up late texting with Jake and then too wound up to catch more than a few hours.

He’s been spending the home games up in the pressbox, hanging out with the guys in the locker room before hand. The guys are playing two-touch in the hall, Morgan perched on a chair they’d dragged out for him, when Jake shows up.

“It’s the enemy!” Mitch hollers before throwing himself at Jake, caught easily in a tight hug. 

“They’ll let anyone in here,” Auston steps up, playfully pushing Mitch out of the way for his turn for a hug. A few of the other guys jump in before Jake manages to make it to Morgan. He’s halfway to his feet when Jake sweeps him in for a bone crushing hug. He clings back, unashamed, ignoring the hollering from his defensemen. 

“Man, I missed you,” he tucks his face into the crook of Jake’s neck, lets him take his weight so it’s not on his bad ankle and just breathes. 

“Same here,” Jake gives him a tight squeeze and then reluctantly pulls back enough to help Morgan back into his chair. 

“What’re you doing down here?” The guys normally save catching up for after the game, less distractions, less likely to get yelled at by the coach.

“Couldn’t wait to see you,” Jake shrugs like it’s not a big deal and for a moment he can’t breathe, chest tight with how much this man means to him. There’s a small smile tugging at his lips when Morgan reaches out for him, and he comes easily, leaning against Morgan’s side, hand on his shoulder as Morgan wraps an arm around his waist.

They stay like that until Keefe comes to get them, wrapped up in each other, watching the others practice and chatting idly, throwing out the odd chirp when someone misses the ball. Then Morgan has to head upstairs and Jake has to hurry back for warmups. 

The game passes quickly and they end up back at Morgan’s, begging off going out with either team until lunch the following day. He’s been on his feet long enough that his ankle is starting to throb, so he downs some advil and heads for the couch, Jake a step behind him with the ice pack he’d forgotten.

Jake’s worn out from the game and Morgan hadn’t slept well the night before so they head to bed early. Brind’Amour had given Jake the all clear to stay over at Morgan’s for the night, letting the team have a rare day off in Toronto before flying back out the following evening. 

Morgan heads to his own room reluctantly, changing into a pair of soft sleep pants. His boot gets set next to the bed, his phone plugged in. He sits on the edge of his bed, every muscle in his body screaming for sleep. Through the wall comes the muffled sounds of Jake moving around, getting ready for bed himself. He stares at the wall as though he can see through it, see Jake padding across the floor and slipping between the covers. 

Despite the distance they’ve lived through in the past months, the space between them now feels far too great, a gaping chasm that leaves Morgan feeling like he’s missing part of himself. 

_ Fuck it, _ he thinks, and carefully slips the aircast back on. 

Jake’s sitting up in bed when he slips into the room, eyebrow arched and phone in his lap where he’d been scrolling through it moments before.

“Thought you were tired,” he says as Morgan hobbles his way around to the empty side of the bed.  _ His _ side of the bed, he notes. 

“Thought  _ you _ were tired,” he shoots back, gently tugging off his boot and setting it within easy reach if he needs it. Mostly he just hops to the washroom if he wakes up during the night; it always seems easier than fighting with an aircast when he can barely open his eyes. 

He slides under the covers, sinking back into the pillows with a sigh. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jake mumbles, locking his phone and setting it on the bedside table to charge. He lays down and Morgan curls towards him. “Your ankle.” He protests, even as he easily rolls onto his side, lets Morgan curl up behind him, his chest to Jake’s back, an arm over his waist.

“Don’t toss and turn,” he instructs, tightening his hold on Jake. He brushes his nose against the back of his neck, feels the shiver that goes through him in response. 

Jake huffs out a laugh, hand coming up to hold the one across his stomach, threading their fingers together. It’s a familiar position, not the first time they’ve fallen asleep like this after years of friendship, offering comfort where needed. This time though, it feels like more, like something tight easing in his chest, leaving him warm and satisfied. His heart is racing but his body feels heavy, and it’s easy to drift off pressed tightly together.

They don’t move throughout the night and Morgan wakes up feeling rested and content. Jake’s still asleep, breathing deep and even. He lays there for a long moment, hand moving with the gentle rise and fall of Jake’s chest, before a more pressing matter becomes apparent.

He’s hard, cock nestled against the curve of Jake’s ass.

He doesn’t even notice at first, and when he does he can’t imagine how he could have  _ ignored _ it. Waking up with a chub is nothing new, he hasn’t gotten laid in  _ ages. _ Waking up so hard it  _ hurts _ with his cock pressed up against Jake’s gorgeous ass- somehow he’s managed to avoid  _ that _ problem until now. 

Quickly and carefully he manages to withdraw his arm, shifting his hips  _ extremely reluctantly _ away from Jake. His heart is racing as he gets out of bed, hastily throwing on his boot. He heads for the nearest washroom, the ensuite to the guest room, and quietly shuts and locks the door behind him, then, falling back against the door, he shoves one fist in his mouth and the other down his sleep pants.

_ Fuck _ the first stroke of his hand on his cock feels like magic and he has to bite down harder on his fist to keep from making any noise. Jake’s asleep on the other side of the door, barely ten feet away- what would have happened had he woken up before Morgan? What if he woke up  _ now _ and heard Morgan getting off?

Unbidden, the kiss comes to mind, but his imagination runs wild with it, with what it could have been like if he had kissed back, if he could have pushed Jake down into the pillows and licked his way into his mouth. 

He comes, embarrassingly fast, all over his fist. 

Morgan washes his hands, splashes water on his face and tries to catch his breath. The image presented in the mirror isn’t reassuring- he’s flushed bright red, all the way down his chest with his pupils blown wide. 

Anyone looking at him is going to know exactly what he’s been doing. 

He unlocks the bathroom door and peers out into the room. Everything is still; the only change is where Jake has rolled over in Morgan’s absence, arm stretched out as though chasing his warmth. Instead of relief, Morgan’s heart clenches at the sight. He stands at the doorway for a long moment. The smart thing would be to retreat back to his own room and hide, or find something to occupy him while he waited for Jake to wake up. 

It's weak, early morning light that’s filtering in through the cracks in the blinds though. He has another few hours before he normally gets up and he’s still tired, more so now that he’s come and the initial panic and arousal has worn off leaving him feeling raw. 

Jake stirs when Morgan climbs back into bed, blinking sleepy blue eyes up at him. He makes an inquiring noise.

“Go back to sleep,” Morgan shushes him, sprawling on his back. Jake tucks himself close to Morgan’s side, stretching his arm across his chest. 

“M’kay,” he mumbles, eyes sliding shut. His breathing evens out quickly with sleep. Morgan’s not sure how he’s going to follow him; the weight of Jake’s arm across his chest feels like a brand, and his skin feels too hot and too tight where they’re touching. His dick threatens to get interested again but he ruthlessly cycles through power play drills in his mind.

Somehow, between one thought and the next, he manages to drift off again.

::

March sees Morgan finally out of his aircast. 

He celebrates by going out with the guys after their home game against Tampa and getting  _ drunk. _ The last thing he clearly recalls is doing shots with Muzz and Cliff, determined to keep up with them. 

_ That _ was a terrible decision, one he regrets when he wakes up with a splitting headache and a tongue that feels like he’s been licking the carpet in the dressing room after practice.

There’s a series of texts waiting for him too, once he’s managed to get some ibuprofen and gatorade into himself and climbed back into bed, feeling marginally more human. Enough to attempt some toast at the very least. 

Mostly it consists of the guys drunk texting the group chat throughout the night, but there’s a handful from Jake too.

_ Sounds like ur having fun! _ The first one is in response to a text he vaguely recalls sending about being free of the hell cast. He’d sent something embarrassing back about how much he’d wished Jake were there and then- well apparently that was when the tequila had hit him.

There’s a few selfies he’d taken doing shots that he’d apparently sent, a blurry close up of someone's eye, and Jake had responded to all of them with gentle chirping. The last picture he’d sent was tagged around four in the morning and consisted of Morgan taking a blurry picture in the mirror in his bathroom, naked. His aim is a little off so his dick  _ isn’t _ in the picture, thank  _ fuck, _ but like, everything else is. He can make out his treasure trail, the jut of his hip bones, god, he’d almost sent Jake a  _ dick pick. _

He must have crashed shortly after that because there aren’t any more incriminating photos. Just Jake’s responses.

He considers smothering himself with his pillow before he reads them. 

_ Looking good, Rielly, _ is followed quickly by,  _ someones had too many lol.  _

He gets a text a minute after that, almost like Jake hadn’t been able to put his phone down, had kept coming back to his texts. His picture. 

_ How r u stilled ripped after sitting on ur ass for a month?? _

_ Ladies must have been luvin u tonight _

_ Its witchcraft isn’t it uve been holding out on me _

_ Didnt pick up tonight?  _

Morgan flushes at the thought that maybe Jake hadn’t minded the picture.

_ Muggles don’t get to know my secrets, _ he sends back and then decides it’s too early to deal with this headache and rolls back over for awhile longer.

March also means a trip out to North Carolina. Keefe has him come along as they fly out to play the Lightning, and then the Hurricanes the next day. It’s a long tough game in Tampa, and the guys are exhausted as they catch a late flight to Raleigh. Morgan’s bunking with Tyson for the night. They take turns showering, and Tyson’s sound asleep when Morgan gets out, passed out face down on his bed, limbs flung wide and mouth hanging open. Grinning, he snaps a picture and sends it first to Jake, and then to a Colorado number he’d stolen from Tyson’s phone earlier in the year. Jake doesn’t reply, probably tucked in bed and sound asleep, but the Colorado number does less than a minute later.

_ Rielly I’m guessing? _

_ Yeah, _ he sends an emoji with a big grin.  _ Thought you’d like this _

The response takes longer to come through this time, long enough that Morgan has already set his alarm and crawled into bed, sinking happily into the cool sheets. He’s missed being on the road with the guys.

_ Thnx, _ it says, and then another, quickly after,  _ keep em coming. _

He grins. Fair is fair, right? Tyson wants to get close to Jake, Morgan’s allowed a little revenge as well.

::

They’re flying out of North Carolina after the game, home for a night before they take the bus to Ottawa, and it’s not enough time, it’s  _ never _ enough time. Morgan will take what he can get, though; he’s not ashamed to take any scraps of Jake’s time thrown his way, hoarding them greedily.

He’s not feeling very rested the next morning but Jake picks him up bright and early and he’s eager to spend the day together. The guys are practicing later in the afternoon, just a short one, but he doesn’t need to be there. 

Jake’s got a car- something he hadn’t bothered with in Toronto, either carpooling with Morgan or one of the others, or using Uber or TTC. They spend the morning bumming around town, Jake showing off some of his favourite haunts, taking him to the fleamarket he’d discovered and subsequently fallen in love with. They end up downtown for lunch at a place called  _ Kings Dining; _ they park nearby and walk the short distance back. It’s a chilly day but bundled up he barely feels it. The restaurant is a hell of a lot more than he’s expecting- packed full of pool tables, games, and a bowling alley. They order lunch and then spend the time waiting chirping each other over a game of pool. 

The afternoon passes too quickly. Jake manages to soundly beat him at a few rounds of bowling but Morgan gets revenge with a couple of borderline  _ violent _ games of air hockey. It’s fun, spending time together, just getting to listen to Jake’s  _ laugh, _ up close and personal and not over the phone.

Morgan had thought ahead and brought his suit along, so they head back to Jake’s apartment quickly to change before they’re expected to be at the rink. He hasn’t been to Jake’s new place yet. It’s a little smaller than his own but with large windows that let in the afternoon light, and warm colours on the walls and furniture it’s welcoming. A kitchen looks out into the living room across an island, a small dining room off to the side. A hallway leads away, presumably to the bedrooms. Shelves line the walls of the living room, covered in books and picture frames. Curious, he wanders closer, gaze sweeping over the photos. A lot of familiar faces stare back- Leafs, past and present, Jake’s family. There’s photos of Morgan and his own family. It’s with surprise he realizes there’s very few faces in the photos that he doesn’t recognize. 

“Here,” Jake hands him a water and leads him down the hall. “You can get changed in the bedroom.”

Jake’s room is decorated in shades of blue- a dark blue rug, a soft blue duvet, photos of the ocean on the walls. He has a feeling his mom had something to do with the decorating. When they’d been living together, his version of decorating had been a beanbag chair shoved in the corner of his room. He’d gotten Morgan a matching one for Christmas one year and they’d migrated out to the living room, replacing an armchair they’d had. 

Jake grabs his own suit and heads for the washroom, muttering something about his hair, so Morgan drops his garment bag on the bed. A photo next to the bed catches his eye. It’s angled so it’s facing the side of the bed he knows Jake sleeps on, and he reaches for it, a soft smile tugging at his lips when he sees what it is.

The photo is from their first year living together, a house party they’d held in honor of someone's birthday, an excuse for a party. He doesn’t remember much of the details now, years later, but he remembers this moment, when he thought it had been just the two of them in the hall, a quiet minute alone. There’s a sweet smile on Jake’s lips, hand on Morgan’s shoulder and Morgan’s gazing back at him with an expression he hadn’t been able to place for years after the photo was taken. 

He knows what it means now- has for awhile.

Morgan places the photo back on the table. His own copy is tucked carefully into the photo album he keeps on the bookshelf in his room. 

They drive in together but part ways for warm ups; he spends the game in the press box with the healthy scratches wishing he was down on the ice. Afterwards, Morgan wanders down to the visitors locker room. They deal with the media, the guys showering and changing back into their game day suits. Their luggage is already on the bus, having been picked up from the hotel earlier so there’s nothing he has to do, just stay out of the way. They’ll be heading straight to the airport after this to catch their flight home.

He drags his feet as some of the guys head out.

“Looking for someone?” Tyson chirps, back in his suit, hair wet and ungelled. 

“Nope,” Morgan settles more firmly against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets. “Thought I’d just hold this wall up for awhile.”

“It  _ was _ looking a little flimsy.” Tyson eyes the wall, then joins him. “Can’t have a wall falling on you when you’re almost back on the ice.” 

Morgan rolls his eyes, it’s going to be another few weeks before  _ that’s _ an option, especially if Dubas keeps him out until the playoffs to help with the Cap. He wants back in, but he gets why he might have to sit out, even if he hates it.

“So how was your date with Gards?” 

“It wasn’t a date,”

Tyson gives him a skeptical look. “Did you kiss again?”

Morgan slaps his hand over Tyson’s mouth. “We are  _ not _ talking about that,” he hisses, glancing around. The hallway isn’t very busy, and no one seems to be paying them any attention.

Tyson glares at him over his hand. He says something and it  _ sounds _ angry, but he’s muffled him well. 

And then he  _ licks him. _

“That’s fucking  _ gross,” _ Morgan wipes his wet palm on his pants, grimacing. 

“Even Nate learned not to pull that shit,” Tyson gives him a frankly  _ evil _ grin. “So does that mean you did?”

_ “No,” _

“Why not?” Tyson demands. “I thought you were going to make a move!”

“I never agreed to that!” He spots Jake jogging down the corridor towards them. “Just,  _ go away.” _

Tyson rolls his eyes but does as he’s told for once, greeting Jake in passing and heading off for the bus.

“Hey,” Jake’s cheeks are ruddy, his lips red and eyes bright. He sounds a little out of breath. “I thought maybe you’d already left.”

“Nah,” Morgan grins, bumping shoulders with him. “You know I’ll always wait.”

He doesn’t  _ mean _ anything by it, but it’s true. Jake’s smile softens, sweetens and they fall into step, heading towards the Leaf’s bus. 

“Four games left for you guys, right?” 

“Yeah, how many for you guys?” 

“Five, we’ve got two against Boston.” 

“Oh man,” Morgan can feel his pain, teams may change, but it can be hard to shake a rivalry so ingrained into them after years of tough losses. “At least you guys don’t have to play them in the first round.” 

Jake laughs, agreeing. They reach the doors out to the bus before he knows it. It’s become their story, hasn’t it? Not enough time, time passing by too quickly, slipping through his fingers no matter how tightly he tries to hold on. They’re heading into the playoffs, and unless they both somehow make it to the second round and  _ face _ each other, it’s going to be  _ ages _ before they can see each other again. The thought sours his mood.

Jake notices, and wraps his hand around Morgan’s wrist, drawing him to a stop. 

“Hey, you alright?” There’s concern written across his features and it sends a pang of guilt through him. He summons up a smile, twists his hand to lace their fingers together.

“Yeah, just thinking it’s going to be a long time till summer.” That brings a frown to Jake’s face. Morgan immediately regrets saying anything. “We’ve got a few days between playing the Habs and the start of the playoffs, maybe I’ll come visit. You can show me that cinema you were talking about. ” 

“They even let you rent VHS,” the smile Jake summons up is weak but still there and Morgan greedily tracks the quirk of his lips. 

“Like you have a VCR.” 

“I’ll find one. Maybe the flea market has one.” 

“You find one and we’ll rent something,” Morgan promises just to see the smile spread. His fingers itch with the urge to trace it.

“It’s a date.” A crazy thought sinks its claws into him at the familiar words. His gaze is drawn to Jake’s mouth, heart suddenly pounding. “What?” Jake asks, smile slipping.

“Can I kiss you?” The words slip out before he’s aware he’s going to say them. Jake freezes, eyes wide. A pink blush decorates his cheeks;  _ pretty, _ Morgan thinks, dazedly. 

“Uh,” Jake clears his throat, glancing around, but they’re alone. “Yeah. Of course.”

_ Of course, _ like it’s some forgone conclusion that Morgan can kiss Jake Gardiner whenever he wants. 

Maybe he can. 

He doesn’t know what to do with that. It feels like a punch to the gut though, sends his heart racing, veins singing. He uses his grip on Jake’s hand to pull him closer, reaches up and cups the line of his jaw, feeling his five o’clock shadow, rough under his palm. His skin is warm. He sucks in a sharp breath at Morgan’s touch. 

It’s different this time, he’s not half awake, not worried about bad breath. Jake’s eyes flutter shut with the first press of their lips. He kisses back, doesn’t freeze like Morgan did, but he’s passive, lets Morgan tilt his head, slide their lips together, keeping it light. 

Sparks ignite between them, and heat licks its way up his spine. 

He has to pull away or else risk pressing closer, licking into Jake’s mouth, carving out a place for himself there. 

Jake slowly opens his eyes, looking dazed, the blue nearly swallowed whole. Just from a brief kiss.  _ My kiss, _ Morgan thinks a little hysterically.

He clears his throat.

“I better get on the bus.”

Jake nods and a small smile replaces his wide eyed expression.

“Text me when you land?” 

They’re okay, he thinks, tension seeping out of him. 

“You know I’ll be texting you in like, five minutes.” They’re still holding hands, he realizes belatedly. He reluctantly lets go. “Someone has to keep me sane around these guys.”

Jake grins, shoves his shoulder lightly, like he’s having as much trouble as Morgan is at keeping his hands to himself. 

“Like you’re not as crazy as the rest of them.”

Morgan clutches his chest.

“You  _ wound _ me!”

Jake laughs, waving him off.

“Oh my god,  _ go! _ Before they send Keefe to get you.”

Morgan goes, but only because his phone has started ringing in his pocket, no doubt the guys telling him he’s about to miss the bus.

::

“So, say I needed some advice…”

Three heads whip around so fast he’s surprised they don’t end up hurting themselves. Andreas, who’s been invited in an attempt to cheer him up, looks curiously between the four of them. This time  _ he’s _ the one with his legs up on the couch, knee wrapped and elevated, still recovering from his knee surgery. Travis has, adorably enough, taken to waiting on him, hand and foot. He’s at the other end of the couch, one hand resting lightly on Andreas’ ankle, the other rubbing his feet. It’s disturbingly familiar. 

“With what?” Andreas asks, cheerfully ignorant to the gleam in his boyfriends eyes.

“With  _ Gardiner?” _ Travis demands and Morgan can feel his cheeks flushing to his horror.

_ “Oh my god!” _ Tyson’s practically falling out of the loveseat, would probably be on the floor by now if not for Justin’s hold on the back of his shirt. “Did something happen after the game?” 

God, Morgan must be bright red by now. It certainly feels like his face is flaming. 

“Did they finally get together?” Andreas asks Travis as Morgan splutters.

“Does  _ everyone _ know?” 

“Just Mango,” Justin rolls his eyes. “And maybe Mitch.”

“And Willy,” Travis adds in.

“Which means Kappy knows too. And probably Zach,” 

“Does  _ anyone _ not know?” Morgan demands. 

The guys glance at each other.

“Auston? Probably. He doesn’t usually notice this kind of thing. I mean, look at him and Mitch, right?” Justin shrugs. “But we’re not talking about  _ that. _ What happened with you and Gards?”

“Did you finally kiss him back?” Tyson demands.

_ “Back? _ You’ve been holding out on us, Rielly?” 

“I regret this entire conversation,” Morgan ignores Travis, looking longingly at the cushions propping up Andreas’ knee and wondering if he can steal one to  _ smother himself with. _

“You’re the one that wanted advice.” Justin points out. “Trying to figure out how to get your guy?”

“You came to the right place,” Tyson adds eagerly. “We’ll have him swooning for you in no time.”

“LIke you’re one to talk,” Morgan shoots back. “Made any moves of your own lately?”

“This isn’t about me,” Tyson crosses his arms, sinking back into the couch, the wind taken out of his sails momentarily. “And don’t think I don’t know one of you has been sending him embarrassing photos of me!”

“I thought they were cute,” Travis snaps a photo as he says it, grinning. 

“Wait,” surprise manages to wash away his embarrassment for the moment and he happily clings to the change in subject. He needs better friends. “I’ve been sending him photos too.”

“Same here,” Justin makes a quick retreat from the loveseat at Tyson’s inarticulate sound of rage. Smart too, considering he’s the closest, within arms reach. 

“I hate you all.” Tyson grumps, tugging out his phone, fingers flying over the screen. Morgan snaps a photo and sends it quickly. “Listen,” he tosses his phone to the side, apparently happy for the moment with whatever damage control he was doing. “This isn’t about  _ me, _ this is about our buddies happiness! How can we get him laid?”

“Roses,” Justin throws out. “Rose petals. Um, chocolate?”

“This isn’t a valentine's day movie from the nineties.”

“Works for me.” He shrugs. “What do you suggest?”

“I mean, Netflix and chill worked for me,” Travis winks. 

“You misunderstood me- you weren’t as smooth as you think.” Andreas rolls his eyes. “We’ve got a bit of a break before the playoffs start,” he adds, the voice of reason amongst all of their chaos. “Why not go away for it?”

“Take him to Mexico!” 

“He burns  _ really _ easily.” It would be a good idea, if not for the fear that the Hurricanes come after him for getting one of their defensemen sunburnt right before their playoff run. And what’s he supposed to do when they get there? Tell Jake that he wants to kiss him all the time? He’s feeling a little out of his depth. He has an idea of what he wants that’s getting more solid the more he thinks about it but there’s a huge difference between wanting something and actually  _ going for it. _

Hasn’t he though? He kissed Jake. It’s not like he’d go around kissing the rest of the guys.

_ Oh god, _ he thinks faintly,  _ Jake totally made a move first. _

“You could fly him in, make him dinner,” Tyson unknowingly interrupts Morgan’s mental tirade. “Super romantic. Get some candles going and like, lava cake for dessert. Isn’t chocolate an aphrodisiac or something?”

“I’m impressed you even know what that means,” Justin gets a pillow to the face but he recovers quickly, cackling. “Really set the mood though, play some romantic music. What about  _ Abba?” _

“Of fuck you!” Tyson lunges and Travis lurches off the couch to keep the pair wrestling away from Andreas. 

He pulls his feet up and out of the way of danger, onto the armchair. His phone buzzes as he’s pulling it out to snap a few incriminating photos. 

_ What happens if u drink mouthwash for a dare? Asking for a friend _

_ Please tell me it wasnt u, _ he sends back, then,  _ big bottle? _

_ Just a shot, _ Jake sends back quickly. There’s a photo accompanying it- a close up of Jake rolling his eyes and someone with their head buried in the toilet in the background.

_ Literal children, _ comes through less than a minute later. Morgan glances at the idiots rolling around on the floor, limbs flailing, and sends a photo in response. 

_ Do I want to know? _

_ Nope, _ and then,  _ what r u doing over the break? _

_ Thought we had plans gonna break my heart mo _

He sends a string of crying emojis, and then a photo of Aho looking vaguely ill and Svechnikov mid laugh. 

_ Just checking, _ Morgan sends back, grinning. A moment later a flailing hand hits his legs and he winces.

“Watch it!”

“Sorry!” Justin yells back as he manages to pin Tyson. He yelps a moment later and Tyson manages to knock him off. “Did you just  _ bite me?” _

Morgan needs better friends.

::

There’s a brisk chill in the air as Morgan loads Jake’s duffle into the car. It’s early enough that he’s still feeling it, can’t imagine how Jake’s feeling after playing the night before, but they’ve got Timmies in the cupholder and a playlist of some of their favourites synced from his phone. 

The airport is quiet, the roads equally so. He takes the highway out of the city; Jake spends the first bit chatting, catching him up on life in Carolina, but it isn’t long before his eyes start to droop. Morgan fills the silence, keeps an eye on him and isn’t surprised when he’s asleep not long after, head resting against the cool glass window, long lashes brushing his cheeks. Morgan turns down the radio and peels off the lid of his coffee as the countryside speeds by.

The cottage he rented is just outside of Lindsay, on Sturgeon Lake. It’s a short drive from Toronto, just under two hours with the early morning traffic. They pass through Little Britain and he leaves Jake sleeping in the car while he runs into a little bakery quickly.

A long winding gravel road leads them further away from the city and under a thick canopy of leaves. It’s quiet; the odd driveway branching off but they don’t pass anyone on the way in. The GPS leads him far enough in that he’s starting to wonder if there’s an end in sight, but they take a turn and suddenly the trees open up. There’s a large clearing around the cottage- two stories tall, light brown with a dark roof and accents. A white porch wraps around the front, disappearing down the side. He can see at least two balconies which must be off the bedrooms. He can’t see the lake from the driveway but the sky overhead is blue and everything around them is the kind of bright green that can only come from early spring.

Morgan grabs the duffles and heads for the door. He makes a couple of trips, gets the front door open, a few windows to air the place out, and it’s not until he’s lugging the cooler up the front steps that Jake wakes up. 

“Sorry.” He scrubs his eyes, yawning. Jake meets him halfway, expression lighting up as he takes in the cottage and the forest surrounding them. It’s quiet, the only sound the birds and the waves gently lapping at the shore out of sight. “You should have woken me up.”

“No worries, man.” Morgan leaves the cooler on the front porch for the moment. “You looked like you needed your beauty sleep.”

“Hey, I’m plenty beautiful,” Jake shoves him and Morgan laughs. He doesn't overthink it, just catches Jake’s hand in his own and holds on. Jake looks surprised but lets Morgan lead him around the side of the cottage. 

“I mean, you’re not bad.” He teases. 

The lake stretches out before them, blue and green and peaceful. 

They spend the morning getting settled, stocking the fridge with the food they brought up. Jake picks the room that looks out over the lake and doesn’t comment when Morgan follows him in, dropping his bag on the opposite side of the bed.

It’s still a little cool by the time the afternoon rolls around but they get changed into swim trunks and head down the dock. The water’s freezing so they sit at the end and let their feet hang in until they’re numb from the cold. Morgan stares out over the lake, shoulder pressed against Jakes, just happy to listen to him talk about anything and everything.

It starts to rain around dinner, effectively killing any thoughts of a campfire, but there’s a large television and a overstuffed leather couch that they sink into. Dinner is stir fry and then they’re back to the couch with a bowl of popcorn between them and  _ Hobbs and Shaw _ on tv. The bowl eventually migrates to the floor and Jake against his side, his arm around his shoulders. 

It’s as easy as breathing to slide beneath the covers that night, to curl up close to Jake and be welcomed in return. They’re both exhausted and are asleep within minutes.

Morgan wakes up to the tickling sensation of fingers running along the bridge of his nose. His mind sleep fogged, he doesn’t realize what it is until he goes to swat it and hears Jake’s laughter. 

“You awake?” Morgan grunts and forces sleep heavy eyes open. Jake smiles at him from barely a breath away, eyes bright blue and happy. At some point during the night they managed to wind themselves closer together, legs tangled, Morgan’s hand resting on Jake’s hip. “Morning.”

“Morning,” he says, voice rough with sleep. Jake’s fingers stroke along his cheek, his jaw, then his lips. His touch leaves Morgan’s skin singing, his heart pounding in his chest. His grip tightens on Jake’s hip, breath hitching. 

“So,” Jake rests his thumb on Morgan’s lower lip. His voice is lower than usual, husky. He can’t seem to tear his gaze away from Morgan’s mouth. “Do we have to keep going our separate ways to kiss or is that something we can do more often?”

Morgan’s breath catches. 

“More often sounds good,” he manages to get out before Jake’s moving his fingers and replacing them with his mouth.

It’s different from the other two times. He isn’t frozen, they aren’t in danger of getting caught, no one has to go anywhere. Jake’s lips are soft, his mouth hot, tongue wicked. Morgan lets him lick his way in, slides his hand up to tangle in his hair. Jake groans as he tugs, his fingers digging into Morgan’s shoulder, hips hitching forwards. 

It ignites a fire in his veins. He takes control, rolls them until he’s pressing Jake into the pillows, slotting himself between his thighs. Jake draws blunt nails down his back tearing a groan from his lips. He holds Morgan close, clutching at his shoulders kissing back like he’s been starved of his touch for too long. Morgan understands how that feels- overwhelmed, a desperate need to crawl inside and make a space for himself, one that Jake will never forget. 

His cock is aching, trapped in his sleep pants and pressed against Jake’s hip. He can feel Jake’s hard length pressing back against him, runs his palm down his belly to feel his muscles jump, and rubs the heel of his hand along his cock. Jake moans, broken and needy, head falling back against the pillows. His lips are red and swollen, hair a mess from Morgan’s hands. He’s  _ gorgeous. _

Morgan can’t help himself. He ducks in for one quick kiss, then another. Jake pants against his lips as Morgan’s hand slowly works him over, builds up the flush on his cheeks and sends his heart racing. 

He sets his teeth to the line of Jake’s jaw, to the long, pale column of his neck and works on marking him up. 

“Don’t know why we waited so long,”

“Cause we’re idiots?” Jake gasps as Morgan sucks a particularly vivid hickey into his skin.

Morgan huffs out a laugh, leans up on his elbows and cradles Jake’s face in his hands. He presses in for a deep, sweet kiss, some of the fire calmed for the moment.

“God, I love you,” he murmurs, relishing the look of joy that spreads across Jake’s face. He wants to memorize it, tuck it away and keep it safe, keep it for him and him alone. 

They shed their pajamas quickly, tossing them out of sight and out of mind. And then Morgan’s pressing Jake back into the mattress. His skin is smooth, warm, when he runs his hands over it. Morgan takes his time exploring, lets his fingers dance over Jake’s nipples, the happy hums it elicits, presses his lips to the jut of his collarbone and feels Jake shiver. His cock is hard, leaking where it’s pressed up against Jake’s bare skin but it’s a passing thought now, second to the sounds he can tear from Jake’s lips. 

Jake grows louder the bolder Morgan is, moans and whimpers that go right to Morgan’s dick. He gasps, loud and breathless in the early morning sun as Morgan licks and kisses his way down his body. His fingers slip over Morgan’s shoulders, wind through his hair, restless, as Morgan  _ finally  _ wraps his hand around Jake’s hard cock. He could tease- he could spend hours marking up Jake’s skin, taking him apart and putting him back together again. But arousal is licking it’s way up and down his spine and Jake is already falling apart so beautifully for him. 

“Mo,” Jake gasps.  _ “Morgan-” _

Morgan strokes him steadily, slowly. Jake’s hips give little hitches like he can’t quite help himself, his legs restless against the sheets. His lips are parted, like he can’t quite catch his breath, eyes half lidded and the familiar blue almost completely swallowed up by black. He kisses him and Jake tries to follow him when he pulls back.

_ “Wait-” _ Morgan freezes, moving when Jake shoves, pushing him to the side. “One second, one second,” he scrambles off the bed and Morgan watches him, cold, confused, as Jake grabs his duffle, pulling something out of a small pocket. His eyes widen when he sees what it is.

Jake crawls back onto the bed, kissing him quick and sweet, pressing the tube into his hands. 

“Did you seriously pack lube?” He asks as Jake pulls back, flopping back onto the bed.

Jake grins up at him, cheeky. 

“I was hopeful.”

_ That _ sends a rush of want through him; Jake home in Carolina, deciding to come prepared  _ just in case. _ He groans, has to wrap a hand around the base of his cock and take a breath.

“Did you want, uh,”

“You to fuck me?” Jake smirks. He’s trying to  _ kill him. _ “Later,” he reaches for him and Morgan goes willingly into his arms. “For now, like  _ this.” _

He takes the lube back, pours some into Morgan’s palm and lays back against the pillows, inviting. He’s never had trouble reading Jake before, and now is no different. He wraps his palm around them both, stroking once, twice, slick and perfect. Heat coils in his belly, tighter and tighter. He leans forwards, braced on one arm, jacking them off. Jake tips his head back, mouth falling open. Morgan nips at his chin, kisses his cheek. His cock is hot and hard pressed tight against Morgan’s in the circle of his hand. 

“Wanted this for so long,” Jake gasps. His hands grip Morgan’s shoulders, his back, his legs wrapping around his hips. “Love you.” 

He drops his head forward, rests it against Jake’s, his chest tight, heart feeling too big. God, how had they waited so long? How had he not  _ realized? _

Jake comes, spilling all over Morgan’s fist. He tilts his head enough to watch, groaning at the sight of Jake’s come all over his cock. He switches his grip so he’s just jacking himself off, Jake pliant and warm beneath him. He bites his lip and comes all over Jake’s belly and softening cock. 

His muscles give out on him leaving him feeling loose and  _ good. _ He manages to catch himself, dropping down beside Jake instead of crushing him with his weight. He’s lying there, trying to catch his breath. Next to him Jake huffs out a laugh, fingers running through the mess they’ve made. It’s unfairly hot.

“I think we both need to work on our stamina.”

“Shut up,” Morgan swats at him but he’s grinning. “I lasted longer than you.”

“I can’t help that you’re stupidly hot,” Jake whines. He rolls, pushing his way between Morgan’s legs to sprawl across his chest. They kiss for awhile, soft and sweet.

Eventually the need for a shower becomes pressing and they stumble from the bed. Morgan presses Jake under the shower head, grabs the shampoo and works it into his wet hair, taking time to massage his head as he goes. Jake lets out the most beautiful sounds of pleasure, eyes shut, swaying into Morgan’s touch like he can’t help himself.

He repays the favor after, long talented fingers working their way through Morgan’s hair, and then down his body. Jake  _ is _ a fucking tease, blunt nails scraping over Morgan’s nipples, his sides, his hips. He drops to his knees gracefully, big hands resting on Morgan’s hips as he seals his lips around his rapidly hardening cock. Morgan’s hands tangle in his hair, moans falling freely as Jake swallows around him, takes him from interested to  _ desperate _ in a matter of moments. His lips look obscene, stretched wide around his cock, red and slick. He bobs his head and doesn’t seem to mind when Morgan’s hips jerk, as he slides his cock past those pretty lips into the tight, wet heat of his mouth. 

_ Morgan _ complains when Jake pulls off with a  _ pop, _ looking smug, licking his swollen lips like he’s trying to  _ kill him. _

“Tile is terrible for my knees,” he rasps and Morgan has to shut his eyes for a moment because  _ he _ did that to him. 

“Bed?” He suggests, helping Jake back to his feet. He pulls him close for a quick, wet kiss, then shuts off the water. They do the bare minimum of drying off and then hurry back into the room. Jake grabs the duvet and tugs it off the bed. He crawls onto the mattress, ass high in the air, unabashedly and Morgan is helpless but to follow, stopping him before he can turn over to grab two full handfuls, squeezing. Jake pushes back into the touch, looking back over his shoulder with a cheeky grin.

“Got something in mind?” He lets out a gasp as Morgan grins his cock between his cheeks, a tease of what he’s got planned. 

“Maybe,” he lets go of Jake but it’s only to nudge him until he’s lying on his back, Morgan back between his legs. The lube has made it to the bedside table, so he scoops that up, sliding down Jake’s body until he’s level with his cock. Jake’s breathing speeds up, a hand coming to rest lightly on Morgan’s shoulder, the other twisting in the sheets.

He doesn’t tease this time, doesn’t want to make Jake wait any longer than he has to. Morgan licks up the underside of his cock, listen to the sweet moans he lets out as he seals his lips around the swollen head. It’s been ages since he’s done this for someone but Jake responds beautifully, head thrown back, body tense, grasping at Morgan like he’s in danger of floating away if he doesn’t hold on. 

Morgan sucks his cock while he cracks open the tube, coating his fingers generously. He doesn’t press in right away, just rubs his thumb gently over his hole, letting him get used to the feeling, until he’s hitching his hips between Morgan’s mouth and his hand. He doesn’t know how long it’s been for Jake, doesn’t know if he’s been hooking up in Carolina, knows it’s selfish to wish he’s been the same as Morgan, pining after someone he hadn’t realized he could have. 

The first finger slides in easily, tight and hot, like his body is  _ made _ for Morgan. 

Jake gets  _ loud- _ bitten off moans, panting up at the ceiling. Morgan has to pull off his cock, catch his breath at the sight. He rests his head on Jake’s thigh, watches the way his body greedily sucks Morgan’s finger in. Jake takes the second and third just as beautifully, crying out when Morgan finds his prostate, curling his fingers there to watch how he shakes and moans. Hazy blue eyes find him and he smiles up at him, so in love he can’t stand it. 

Jake curses him when he pulls his fingers out but Morgan doesn’t go far. He’s reaching for the bedside table before realizing-  _ “Shit, _ did you pack any condoms?” 

Jake rolls his eyes- Morgan must not be doing his job well enough if he can still sass him- and points at his bag. Thank  _ fuck. _ Morgan’s apparently a colossal idiot; he’d thought he could discreetly hit up a drug store in town and then had promptly  _ forgotten. _

He makes Morgan go digging through his duffle, chirping him gently from the bed. It doesn’t take long to find them, there’s an entire  _ box _ because Jake apparently came up here with ulterior motives. He grabs a few, dumps them on the bedside table and clambers back onto the bed. His fingers are slick with lube so Jake tears the package open, rolling the condom down over Morgan’s cock. He shivers at the feeling of Jake’s hand on him, how he strokes him like Morgan isn’t already hard and desperate to get inside him. He’s knocked breathless with the urge to kiss him, leaning in and pressing their lips together. Morgan’s had his fair share of partners, of hookups and relationships, and for the life of him he can’t remember there ever being this much  _ kissing. _ It’s never been something he’s sought out, more interested in getting off, in getting his partner off, but he  _ loves it. _ Loves how Jake kisses him back with tongue and teeth, hot and wet and needy. 

He presses Jake down gently with a hand on his shoulder, slides a pillow under his hips and helps him get comfortable. His legs come up, winding around Morgan’s waist, his hands seeking out his arms, his shoulders, smoothing along his skin like he can’t settle. Morgan rubs his hip soothingly, gripping his cock and lining up with Jake’s hole.

He presses in slowly and the tight hot heat is indescribable. A punched-out moan rips it’s way free of Jake, his fingers biting into Morgan’s skin, eyes clenched shut tight. 

“You okay?” He manages to find the breath to ask, has to drop his head and focus on not fucking his way in, in waiting for Jake so he doesn’t hurt him. God, he  _ never _ wants to hurt him. “You feel so  _ good,” _ he moans, hips sliding forwards a little at a time.

“Just... _ big,” _ Jake gasps. “Slow. Go  _ slow.” _

Morgan kisses his shoulder, body shuddering with the effort it takes to go slow. Slowly, Jake’s body opens up for him, a flush rising high on his cheeks, mouth falling open. He pauses, buried to the hilt, hips flush against Jake’s ass and just tries to breathe. 

Jake shifts, his grip on Morgan loosening.

“Okay,” he meets Morgan’s gaze, so open and trusting. “Okay, go ahead.”

He keeps it slow at first, rocking his hips in, feeling the drag of Jake’s body around him, how it tries to pull him back in as he moves. Jake lets out a sigh, wrapping his hand around his cock, stroking it back to full hardness as Morgan sits back a little. He fits Jake’s leg into the crook of his elbow, the other around his waist, and fucks back in a little harder. It rips another moan from him, stroking his cock faster. 

He really does need to work on his stamina, he realizes as he can feel his orgasm building in his gut. At this moment though there’s nothing he wants  _ more _ than for Jake to come on his cock. He bends forwards, watches how Jake’s eyes light up, mouth open in a silent  _ ‘o’ _ as the new position lets Morgan nail his prostate. His hips are thighs, sweat beading along his temple. The feeling of fucking into Jake’s body is intoxicating- he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get enough. 

Jake comes with a cry all over his chest and the way his body tightens has Morgan falling over the edge a moment later. 

He doesn’t manage to keep from crushing Jake this time, worn out in the best way possible. He lays, sprawled across JAke’s chest, his hands running soothing patterns along his back, cradling Morgan close. Jake’s come and their sweat has long since cooled before Morgan manages to sit back, grip the condom and carefully pull out.

Jake makes a face at the feeling but otherwise doesn’t move, watches Morgan with sleepy eyes as he quickly tosses the condom in the garbage and grabs a cloth to clean him up.

He easily welcomes Morgan back into his arms, lets him rest his head on his shoulder, legs entwined. The room is cool and he really  _ should _ have grabbed the duvet from the floor, but Jake is warm pressed against him and he’s too happy to move. Jake presses a kiss to his temple, letting out a happy hum.

Morgan presses a kiss to his chest, over his heart and then settles down to listen to its steady beating.

::

“Hey, did you remember the steaks?” 

Morgan’s halfway into the trunk of the car they'd rented for the summer, trying to wrestle one of the duffles out from where it’s been hooked under the seats. He gives up for the moment to crawl back out. Jake’s out on the porch, barefoot, already changed into a pair of shorts, shirt long since gone. He’s got two beers in hand and one had better be for Morgan considering he hasn’t made it inside yet, offering to unpack the car while Jake sets up the kitchen.

“Bottom of the blue cooler.” He crosses over to the porch, accepting the beer Jake holds out for him, before winding an arm around his waist to reel him in for a kiss. It’s sweet and simple and makes his chest warm. He steps back, eyeing the fading bruises across Jake’s chest from Carolina’s playoff run. They look a hell of a lot better than they did when he’d met up with Morgan a few days prior in Toronto.

“Cool, I don’t want to go into town for a week  _ at least.” _

They’re both still feeling a little raw from their exits from the playoffs, haven’t decided if they’re going to watch the final rounds or just ignore hockey for the time being. Chances are they’ll be parked in front of the tv for the game the following night, but for the moment neither of them want the reminder of another season cut short.

At least, he thinks as Jake leans into his side, it means more time together. 

“Oh, I should probably mention we’re going to have visitors in a few weeks,” Jake takes a sip of his beer, then leads the way around the wraparound porch, towing Morgan by the hand. The view of the lake is as breathtaking as he remembers it. “You know, this place is big enough for a dog.”

Morgan’s caught a little off guard, resuming his position with his arm around Jake’s waist.

“Are your parent’s coming up with the dog?”

“What? No, just thinking out loud.” 

“Who’s coming up then?” Morgan sets his beer down on the railing, turning to cage Jake in with his arms. He presses a kiss to his jaw, his neck, chuckling when Jake tilts his head giving him room to explore. “‘Cause I was looking forward to just you and me.”

“Like you weren’t going to invite the guys up,” he rolls his eyes. “Tyson asked to come up in July.”

“And he didn’t ask  _ me?” _ Morgan pulls back to squint at him. 

“I guess he likes me more.” Jakes grin is cheeky and Morgan just has to kiss it off of him. 

“Let me guess,” he says, when they pull back to catch their breath. “He’s bringing the guys up.”

“Well, he’s bringing  _ a guy _ up,” Morgan’s eyes go wide at the implication.

_ “No, _ he’s making a  _ move?” _ Jake nods, eyes sparkling. “Wow, was beginning to think he didn’t have it in him.”

“Guess we’re just good influences.”

“Says the guy who dared someone to  _ drink mouthwash,”  _

“Definitely wasn’t me,” Jake swats him and Morgan laughs, leaning in for another kiss. “But that’s like, what? A month away? That means it’s just you and me till then. Think you can manage not to get too bored?” 

He nips at Morgan’s lips, hands sliding underneath his shirt to trace over the sensitive skin just above his jeans.

“I think I’ll manage,” he grins and sets about helping Jake divest him of his shirt. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please don't drink mouthwash- it is apparently very poisonous...


End file.
